


Quiet Bower

by Trobadora



Series: Miracle [8]
Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: M/M, not monogamous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's not an invitation. Or rather, it is - but an invitation of a different kind.</i> - Set shortly before the events of <i>Children of Earth</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Bower

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, but can be read on its own. Originally started for the Winter Companions [Perfect Day Challenge](http://wintercompanion.livejournal.com/171472.html) and finished for the [Amnesty Challenge](http://wintercompanion.livejournal.com/174067.html).

Jack looks up as Ianto enters his office, holding up a paper bag with a pinched expression. "Lunchtime. I brought sandwiches." The tightness around his eyes doesn't fit the innocuous statement at all.

"Thanks." Jack raises his eyebrows, and for some reason Ianto blushes. Jack's interest is definitely piqued now. He waves Ianto inside, and when they've both unwrapped their sandwiches, he asks, "Something come up?" He makes it sound as suggestive as he can, which is a lot. Ianto blushes more, then scowls and proceeds to chew his tuna-on-rye rather more vigorously than it warrants. Jack intensifies his look, knowing Ianto will give in.

Ianto glares back, then swallows, studying his fingernails. "I'm to give _my boyfriend_ Mr Fenwick's best," he finally admits, not looking at Jack. His voice is tight.

"So?" Jack stands up and steps around the desk, holds out a hand. Ianto rises comes to him, no hesitation at all. Jack pulls him into a hug. They fit together comfortably.

"Again with the couple thing," Ianto mutters into Jack's shoulder.

Jack isn't sure why that's such a big deal. What is that about, recently? Ianto keeps getting more twitchy. "It's all just labels. Ignore it." He brushes his lips against Ianto's temple, and a moment later they're kissing. There's a bit of an edge to it at first, but gradually Ianto relaxes into it. They'll get there. They've come so far already, from Ianto's desperate, duplicitous seduction through Jack's fury over Lisa, through the balancing act Jack is still maintaining between his life at Torchwood and the Doctor, through all the trip-wires of their relationship to this. Jack has no doubt they'll manage the rest as well.

When they come apart, Ianto sighs. "Not done with the errands yet." He makes an apologetic gesture, somewhere at the edge of Jack's field of vision.

Jack sighs, too, and they separate, gradually, reluctantly. Ianto has a trip to London ahead of him, retrieving a Tentrolian supracapacitor from storage - the Mainframe's predicting a spike in Rift activity in about four days' time, and the small group of Tentrolian expats living in Splott are worried their wrecked spaceship's remaining generators aren't going to survive another surge. Torchwood, supplier of spare parts. The only reason Jack isn't going with Ianto is that it would leave Gwen alone to deal with any unexpected Rift activity. They're seriously understaffed, and have been since ... well, since Owen and Tosh.

Ianto hesitates. "I could put it off." He looks at Jack, half hopeful, half knowing better. Jack doesn't have to say anything; he corrects himself immediately. "Right. I need to ..."

Jack nods. "I know it'll be late; come back afterwards anyway." He's not too fond of spending his nights alone these days.

He sees Ianto's smile, and can hear it in his voice. "Yes, sir."

~*~

Jack watches Ianto leave, then reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small device. He weighs it in his hand.

He's got nothing ahead of him but a few empty hours, and he's not feeling like doing the paperwork. After yesterday's running around and the tedious negotiations with the Tentrolians, who weren't entirely happy confessing their concerns to Torchwood, he's earned a quiet day.

What the hell.

~*~

Jack lies back in the reddish meadow, slightly dry blades of grass tickling the back of his neck, a faint smell almost like nuts and cinnamon all around him. The sky is a greenish blue, and above him a crescent moon is clearly visible in the sunny sky.

All his senses believe it's real.

 _If you can't go there, bring it to you._ Ventorian Engrammators are brilliant. Best invention ever. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift, melt into the hot summer air, the warmth of the ground beneath him.

~*~

A shadow falls across his face; abruptly, there is a presence beside him where there should be none. Jack is sitting up, eyes open, body tense, alert before he even consciously registers it. Then he slumps back, relieved and almost annoyed.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he asks.

The Doctor - because of course it's the Doctor; who else would it be? - scowls down at him with obvious dismay. "You're using a Ventorian Engrammator," he accuses.

Jack smirks. "At the moment, so are you."

The scowl deepens. "I had to, didn't I? Just yanking you out could have scrambled your brain. What were you _thinking_? These things are addictive to humans. A 51st century man should know that! A time agent doubly so." The Doctor gestures furiously, underlining his words. "Remember what happened after the banning on Arossis Prime, back in forty-nine twenty-three? Or the Altane riots of twenty-apple-alpha-five?"

"I remember, yeah." Jack sits up again and rolls his eyes. "Don't worry. Apparently being immortal comes with a few side benefits. I'm immune."

The Doctor's frown lines grow even more pronounced. "And pray tell, how did you find out about that?"

Jack sighs. "This was a really peaceful place, you know, before you arrived to lecture me." The words carry no sting. He's not at all bothered. It wouldn't be the Doctor if he didn't lecture on occasion.

Besides, even Jack can lie alone in the sun only for so long, and it's hours yet before Ianto will come back. The Doctor's visit really couldn't have come at a better time.

The Doctor reaches out a hand, but stops before he can touch Jack's shoulder. "Immune, hm?" He raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Then what are you _doing_ here?"

"Nothing. Just enjoying the sun."

"Well," the Doctor drawls, "much as I can understand the desire for some sun after spending years in Cardiff, isn't this going a bit far? I'm told there are actually places on Earth that do get some sun. Even in Britain." He makes an impatient gesture. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Jack shakes his head, waves a hand lazily. "What's the rush?"

A shadow falls across his face as the Doctor leans closer. "You're sure you're immune?"

Jack smiles warmly up at him, winks. "No rescue needed today. Sorry to disappoint."

The Doctor examines his face for a long moment, then his expression clears, immediately fading into a different frown, one that's not worry so much as irritation. "It's artificial. Nothing happens here." The Doctor's voice is flat. "Don't you think that's boring? I think it's boring."

Jack squints up at him. "Is it? You don't have to stay, you know."

The Doctor fidgets. "I don't know why you'd want to just lie here when we could be _doing_ something."

Jack rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything. He was doing nothing before, and was quite content with it for the moment - but now he's doing something after all: he's irritating the Doctor, which is one of his favourite pastimes.

The Doctor almost pouts. "Jack. Come on." He sounds petulant.

Jack grins up at him and reaches out a lazy hand. "You come on."

The Doctor looks down at his trainers, brushes a hand through his hair. Finally he huffs and awkwardly lowers himself to the ground next to Jack. His coat pools around him. He shifts around, jumps to his feet, shrugs out of his coat, then sits down again.

Jack laughs at him openly.

He glares at Jack for a moment, then looks away again. Stretches. Rolls his neck. Cracks his knuckles. Picks a blade of grass and twirls it around his thumb. Eventually he starts picking tiny blue petals off an alien flower, apparently completely absorbed in the task. Jack imagines him counting them off: _Run away - don't run away - run away ..._

Jack smiles to himself. It shouldn't be relaxing, watching the Doctor practically itching to move. It shouldn't be comfortable. But it is.

It takes him longer than it should to realise why.

After their last fraught encounters, always one or the other of them strained to the breaking - after everything, this, here, has no such urgency behind it. There is no purpose, no ulterior motive. No one needs comfort or reassurance. They are here because they want to be; nothing more.

Nothing more, so Jack can let himself sink into the moment, can let himself bask.

After a while the Doctor throws the mutilated flower away in disgust. The petals didn't give him the answer he wanted, Jack thinks and suppresses a snort. The Doctor turns to Jack, and all the twitchy, nervous energy is suddenly gone, focused into an intense gaze. Jack feels gooseflesh rise on his arms for a moment before he deliberately gets himself under control.

Slowly, deliberately, the Doctor moves closer, raises a hand to brush something out of Jack's hair, trails his fingers down the back of Jack's neck, reels him in for a kiss. A cool, insistent tongue sweeps into Jack's mouth, swirls around his tongue, explores every inch. Jack, with his eyes closed, lets himself be swept away with the Doctor's intensity for a moment.

But he knows what the Doctor is doing. No.

Reluctantly, regretfully, he grasps the Doctor's shoulders and pushes. Just enough to separate them - just enough, not one bit more. "No," he murmurs against the Doctor's lips, even as the Doctor begins to tense under his hands. "Not like that, all right? Not this time."

Sex can't be the Doctor's excuse for staying every time. Sometimes, that's more than fine with Jack, but not every time. And not now, here, in this place that doesn't exist, this quiet bower. Silly as it might be to want the Doctor to rest with him.

The Doctor moves back abruptly and genuinely gapes at him. "Who are you, and what have you done with Captain Jack Harkness?" The wry irony falls away as soon as it appeared, and the Doctor's surprised gape turns into a glare.

A glare that's long lost its effect on Jack. God help him, he actually finds it endearing these days. "Oh, don't give me that." Affection suffuses his voice. He can't help it, he has to reach up and cup the Doctor's cheek with his hand. He smiles at the Doctor and lies back on the grass again, pulling the Doctor down with him.

It's not an invitation. Or rather, it is - but an invitation of a different kind.

The Doctor ends up leaning over him, scowling, but after another insistent pull, he settles awkwardly against Jack. "What now?" he huffs into Jack's shoulder.

"You ever had anything to do with Tentrolians?" Jack ignores the Doctor's tension and launches into the story of Cardiff's small Tentrolian colony and their narrow escape from the genetic re-engineering that passed for a penal system on their homeworld. The Doctor, predictably, can't help himself from commenting, and soon he's distracted into relaxation, all the while managing to gesture animatedly with one hand even while lying in Jack's arms.

Jack smiles into the Doctor's hair and slides a hand into the back of his trousers, cupping his arse. This, too, is not a come-on. Not today.

Not today, for once, and the Doctor doesn't take it as such.

They're just resting together under the unreal sun, talking in low voices, Jack's thumb caressing the skin under the Doctor's waistband, and the Doctor's hand carding through Jack's hair. Between Jack's own segues into other Torchwood adventures and the Doctor's constant interruptions, they're having rather bizarre fragmented conversation, but it works for them. Curiously chaste caresses accompany their tales, an almost unbearable intimacy.

Between this and the promise of Ianto later tonight, Jack feels almost impossibly content.

"Still bored?" he asks after a while, during a lull in their conversation.

The Doctor snuffles a harrumphing noise into Jack's neck and launches into a new story. Neither of them move.

For the longest time, neither of them move, just lying there together under the greenish sky, sun-warmed and lazy.

And there is no rush. No rush at all.


End file.
